Empty Matryoshka (Russia X China)
by Hiranyavarna
Summary: Yao Wang is a college student from China who has come to the United States after being accepted into a University. In order to pay the rent for his apartment room, he decides to teach kung fu, even though he despises having learnt it himself. However, after meeting his neighbor, Ivan, a shy (and slightly creepy) ballet teacher, his previously dull and colorless life takes a turn.
1. Chapter 1 - Useless

**1**

**Useless**

"Aiyaa!" Yao picked up the heavy cardboard cargo box and set it on the table with a thud, sending a few messily-arranged immigration papers flying. He stepped away, clutching his aching back and groaning with disappointment. Things were everywhere—scattered throughout his small apartment room were boxes and boxes of items from China he had brought over on his trip. _Immigration is hard_.

He rummaged through the various items, and many of them were seemingly unnecessary. "Sports equipment, old art stuff—why do I need a silk sash? Broken calculator, violin strings, useless foldable plastic chair, paper-mache doll, hmmmm, no _Harry Potter _is definitely important, baby pictures—oh no, these aren't too cute—and these many good luck charms just won't do a thing. Ah!"

Reaching to the bottom of the pile, Yao pulled out a pair of tonfa—a couple of short, wooden weapons—and then held them up in triumph. "There! I've found another one!" He placed it next to his array of swords, short axes, sticks, and other martial arts equipment. "A few more left to go and I can finally set up the classroom!" he said as he briskly dusted off his hands. "And then I can get the ads going by tomorrow."

Yao Wang was an average college student from China—he spent most of his time buried in studies and would sometimes take a glimpse at outside activities. His life had felt dry and without color, as his world had been restricted to his high school grounds, old and battered-up house, and martial arts school. After relentlessly seeking an opportunity that would pull him out of the daily drab of his mother's demanding voice, the loud sounds of his neighborhood, and the endless noise of flipping text book pages, the solution came. He was accepted into a university in California, and within one week Yao found himself bumbling out of San Francisco airport, confused but all the more excited.

He was pulling out an old, dusty matryoshka doll when the doorbell rang. _Ding-dong! _"Hey, Mr. Wang~!" It was a strangely overly-enthusiastic voice—though muffled by the door, it rang like a bell.

Yao opened the door to find a rather cheery-looking blonde with flashing blue eyes under a pair of glasses. Had it not been for the American-flag shorts and shopping bags, the "I Heart New York" water bottle, the brand name "Texas" on his glasses, and the Captain America t-shirt, Yao would have considered him sane. He'd seen patriotism, but none quite like this. _I suppose all Americans are like this, _Yao worryingly told himself.

"What's up man? I'm your apartment manager, Alfred!" the American said with a wink. "Sorry I wasn't at the office the other day. You okay with the room?"

"Uh, yeah, it's nice," Yao said. "Thank you very much."

"Eyo, no need for thanks, man!" Alfred thought for a while. "Say, how're you gonna pay?"

Yao blinked.

"Come on, don't take it personally! I'm the manager remember?"

Yao hesitated. "Um, I teach."

"Teach what?"

"Kung fu." Yao could see the shower of stereotypes headed his way.

Alfred jumped back in surprise. "Whoa, dude, so you're like fucking Bruce Lee or Jackie Chan or something? That's awesome! Can you fall through glass and do a back flip and punch everyone in the room at once _and _stay uninjured? And you're in _college_. What, you must some prodigy!"

Yao sighed. He saw scenes of his mother dragging him wherever she went, boasting about how he could kick with the best form, how he could spin and attack with swords the fastest, how easily he beat up the other kids—and, wow, did you hear about how he could exceed even his teacher?—treating him like some object to be proud of and flaunt without shame. He had felt so used—he didn't want to be the prodigy he was. "I teach. That is all"

Alfred didn't seem to care. "Man, with your skittles, you don't have to be the slightest bit afraid of the guy next door. You can just pwn him with a motherfucking roundhou—"

"Guy next door?" Yao asked, intrigued. "Why, what's so bad about him?"

"What's wrong? Dude he's one hell of a creeper."

Yao turned to the apartment room beside his own. Indeed, it was rather ominous; the room was situated behind the staircase leading to the next floor, so the shadow that fell on it would naturally make appear gloomy—but all the curtains and windows were closed, so, even though two lonely brown boots stood before the door, it appeared as if absolutely no one was inside.

"Yeah, don't even get me started." Alfred patted Yao on the shoulder. "If he messes with you just come tell me, m'kay? Or you could just give him a Falcon Punch in—"

"Alfred. I have to go back to arranging my things, so if you please."

The blonde looked a little offended. He sheepishly backed away, saying, "Haha, sorry man—you go back to whatever you were doing." He waved vigorously as he headed back to his office. "See you later!"

After waving back half-heartedly, Yao walked back in, shaking his head. He resumed inspecting the condition of his room once more. "What was I doing again?"

And he saw the matryoshka doll again—the dusty old matryoshka doll, sitting lonely on top of a cardboard box. Yao curiously opened the doll, but instead of finding a set of smaller, similar dolls inside, he found nothing but absolute vacancy. It appeared desolate, unfulfilled. He put it back into the box, and said, "Useless."


	2. Chapter 2 - Scarf-Man

**2**

**Scarf-Man**

"What good is that?" Yao lightly tapped his student's hand with a short stick. "Your fist is not in the correct position. Place your outer two knuckles like this, so that you can distribute the force right at the area you are punching." He readjusted her hand. "Yeah, just like this. Punch again."

The girl rolled her eyes, pulled back her fist, and punched again.

Well, if one could even call it a punch.

Her wrist was horribly loose, and her "fist" dangled like the appendage of some flesh beast—not to mention her back appeared to lack any sign of a spine. She looked dead, or rather undead, and she contained absolutely no soul in any of her motions; how was she the girl who, as he mother had described, was "a tiger in martial arts while her old instructor was no more than a rabbit"?

Yao was fed up; he'd been teaching this excuse of a student for the past forty-five minutes. There were only fifteen minutes left to bear, he knew, but considering his rough first day of college (he had lost his way to class, had been unable to stay awake during a lecture because of jetlag, and had miserably tripped into a puddle) this was a nightmare. He took his stick and tapped her hand again—but this time, things didn't quite work out as he had intended.

"Ow!" the girl said as she vigorously rubbed the reddening spot on her hand. Her expression turned cold, cold, colder, and with the most lifeless eyes she stared at (or into) Yao. "Shi fu," she said, "we don't do things like that here. I can tell my parents, and they can tell the police."

Yao jumped back with a small yelp, surprised at her audacity. She reminded him of a certain event in Chinese history—_give her a red book and put her in an angry mob and voila!_ He knew little about laws and court procedures in the United States, so gritted his teeth, and chose to take it like a man. _Only fifteen more minutes… _

"How's my daughter doing?" The woman asked as she admiringly ruffled her child's hair.

Yao had dark, dark rings and bags—like the fullest of grocery bags—under his twitching eyes. The mother had demanded an extra half-hour of class because she had failed to see "improvement" and threatened to find another teacher. He held a weak thumbs-up and almost groaned. "Excellent. Yup, she's fine."

As the delinquent and her foolishly proud mother strode off into the distance with not so much as a simple "thank you," Yao muttered under his breath, "Don't you ever come back again." He needed more students, quickly too, so that he wouldn't forever live in fear of the notorious pair's threats. _It's only been the first day. The FIRST day. And it's already so bad… _

Yao sighed, shook his head, and proceeded to return to his room.

But then, he noticed him.

To Yao's left was a strange figure sitting on an old wooden chair outside of the lonely-looking house. He gave of the feeling of someone who regularly basked in the afternoon sun on their balcony.

Only he was sitting in the shadows.

The man's black turtleneck sweater was dark as can be, allowing him to camouflage into his gloomy background, and it radiated almost pure menace, but then Yao noticed that the sweater was a little too large for him. Yes, its sleeves covered most of his gloved hands and only showed a peek of his fingers. He also wore a soft, soft pink scarf that concealed his moth and was topped by a large, almost parrot-like nose.

Oh, it was a nice looking nose though—yes—it had a pinkish tip, much like those of the man's ears, and, well, it looked kind of soft and boop-able (_that is not even a word, _Yao thought_._) and…_handsome? Was that the best way to describe it?_ The man rocked back and forth in his small chair and hummed some small tune, twiddling his fingers and repositioning his scarf occasionally.

Yao blinked incoherently. Was this the same creeper Alfred had told him about? _Cute, _he immediately thought, but he then shook his head, trying to shake the word out of it as well.

"Privyet."

"Waah!" Yao jumped. The voice was nice and clear and that of a man, surely, but it was almost…childlike. It couldn't have come from Scarf-Man.

"Privyet." Scarf-Man's mouth was visible now, and it was apparent that he was the one who had spoken. Even his smile was childlike.

Yao looked around frantically before fearfully pointing to himself. "M-me?"

"Da," said Scarf-Man, "you are the only one here. I am talking to you." He stood up, and for the first time, Yao redefined his own short stature. " 'Privyet' is 'hi' in Russian. I wanted to see if you would reply back."

"Ah, sorry my mistake, uh, I…uh, um, hello?" Yao wanted to go back inside; he wasn't the best at social interaction.

Scarf-Man moved closer and his purple eyes—yes, purple, an eye color Yao never knew could possibly exist!—gleamed amicably. He put out his right hand, saying, "I'm Ivan Braginsky."

Almost returning the handshake with the wrong hand, Yao stammered, "I-I, I'm Yao. Y-Yao Wang." _Damn it. _Why couldn't he speak properly? Was it because Ivan, tall and of formidable shape, was looming over him? Or was it his thick Russian accent that threw him off? Maybe it was because of his grayish hair or purple eyes or ridiculously large sweater or nose that screamed out, "boop me." Whatever it was, Yao didn't like it—not one bit.

"You look tired," Ivan said. "Call that girl's mom and tell her you don't like her. It is the only way to solve problems without a transportable water-pipe."

That didn't sound good.

Yao gulped, but he found it surprising that Ivan was considerate enough to give him advice. However, it didn't eliminate the creepiness factor. _Who is this man? And why is he interested in my business? _

"Here," he said, reaching behind his back and pulling a bear-like plush with fan-like ears from seemingly nowhere. "Since you are not feeling well, you can have Cheburashka with you for now."

"Um." Poor Yao was utterly confused; why was this man giving him, a college student, a toy?

"You don't like it." Ivan pulled Cheburashka away. "I-I'm sorry."

The amount of hurt Yao could sense in Ivan's voice was enough for him to make him eagerly grab the plush as it were a prize. "No, no! I like it, I like it!" He hesitated. "I…I was just a little surprised."

Ivan gleefully clapped his hands and gave a small hop. "I'm happy! See, everyone loves Cheburashka." He patted Yao on the shoulder and said, "Take care, Yao! Get better soon." He walked back and disappeared behind the door of his lonely house, taking all the activity in the area with him.

Yao just stood. He stood, senselessly, without any hint of thought or contemplation. He stood, and the Cheburashka in his hand remained idle with him. He stood with the images of the cute-creepy Russian man playing in a slideshow in his mind. He stood. After almost five whole minutes, the only thing Yao could manage was to say, audibly,

"What…the heck was that?"


	3. Chapter 3 - Disgrace

3

Disgrace

Beaten, bruised, and utterly defeated.

For the first time ever, someone had to help Yao to stand. He let out a small cry of pain, trying to ignore his aching back and heart. The onlookers eyes fell sharply on him; there was no escape—no alleviation. Everything appeared pitch black, devoid of any light or hope.

Pitch black.

Black.

His mother's eyes, which often gleamed with a warm brown hue was now that very same black. They fixed themselves upon him and refused to move. The accusation and disappointment behind that stare stung Yao, pushing him further and further into shame.

He had lost.

His opponent, Horace Wong, appeared, at first, quite ordinary in appearance. His expression lacked the passion meant for martial arts, his clothes were a little too loses, and he gave the vibe of an amateur. Moreover, since he had been introduced as being raised in England, he had compelled Yao to think, _What could they teach him about kung fu in England? That's right; he's an easy catch. I'll push him aside before anyone can see. _

But Horace couldn't be pushed aside. Every move he had made was like a firecracker, bursting spontaneously and unexpectedly—he not only fought with kung fu; he also _danced _with it, creating illusions with the smoothest and fastest fluidity of movement. Before long, he had made a petty amateur out of Yao, the city's young kung fu pride.

Everyone spoke amongst themselves in furtive, hushed tones as a degraded, humiliated Yao passed by.

"_Did you see that kid?"_

"_Who? Horace? That Wang Yao was such a flea compared to him!"_

"_And we were all placing faith on someone so unskilled!"_

"_I know, it must have been all lies. Now we'll see how his mother walks with her chin up at market again."_

"_It was about time she shut up anyway." _

Yao's mother, unable to hold back her oncoming tears, dragged Yao past the road by his sleeve, damning him—her own son—under her breath. Yao appeared dead, still in disbelief—he was unable to react, but he could feel the hurt building up inside of him. As his mother pulled him into the car and slammed the door as if to break it, only one thing was going on in his mind.

_What a disgrace._

Yao carried the memory with him like a deep, deep scar. It was all in the past, yes, but it had cost him his peace. He could almost hear his voice as it had been right after the competition, hoarse and faltering. "You set me up to this! Who told you I was any good? I was never a prodigy!" He really wasn't; all he did was perfect his moves and simply copy his teacher. He could never his skills in reality, and no one had seen him do so until that fateful day.

His mother talked to him little afterwards.

_Oh, _Yao thought. _That's why I left, right? That was the real reason. _He sighed and rolled over in his bed. He covered his face for a while, quaking and trembling. When he removed his hands, he was in tears and his face had gone completely red. He stayed that way—crying to himself silently—for a good five minutes. _Damn it. Damn it all. This isn't even that bad! People have it a lot worse than you Yao… _But the grief wouldn't leave; that was what depression was, right? He desperately tried to hug himself, but there was nothing that could be done. He was all alone.

And then he noticed that strange figure with the round, dumbo-sized ears, sitting comfortably on his night stand. Without thinking twice, he snatched it and pulled it into his embrace, this time crying audibly. "I-I'm a disgrace…! But no one understands…I can't be what everyone else wants! But I hurt the one who trusted me the most...I-I miss my mom!" He could feel his tears dampening poor Cheburashka, but he could care less. As he slowly silenced and pulled the plush away from him, he was surprised to find that Cheburashka still had its characteristic smile and round, amiable eyes.

Yao hugged it again, this time enjoying its warmth and softness. It felt so accepting, comforting—literally, he felt as if it was the embodiment of kindness. It even had a soothing scent. What was it? Sunflowers? _It also smells like…like…alcohol? _His mind raced back to that afternoon, when he had that strange encounter with Ivan. His smile had been much like Cheburashka's, genial and warm. And his sweater and scarf had looked so soft—it compelled Yao to think, _Is Ivan huggable as well?_

He slapped the back of his head as if to swat out the thought. _Wh-what am I thinking? I've only known this man for barely a day. _Yao decided that it was time to push out any unnecessary feelings and go the heck to sleep, and he tried to put Cheburashka back on the stand.

But then, Ivan's childlike voice echoed in his mind.

"_You don't like it!" _

Yao decided it would be nice to sleep with a stuffed animal every once in a while.

_Author's Note: I know that the more common name applied to Hong Kong is Kaoru, but a Japanese name wouldn't suit the story. Horace Wong, used by Chinese fans, seemed more suitable in this context. _


	4. Chapter 4 - Peter

**4**

**Peter**

"_You know," Alfred said, "he sometimes brings little kids over to his house." He took another sip from his Slurpee. "You get what I'm talking about, right?" _

_Yao blinked. "Um, not really Alfred…" Noticing that one of Cheburashka's ears was poking out of his bag, he quickly squished the plush further inward. _

"_Dude." He reduced his voice to a furtive whisper. "They're like, four years old sometimes." _

"_I-um." Yao's stomach made a turn. It was dangerous to trust a total stranger, and he knew it quite well, but something about Ivan did not parallel Alfred's assumptions. There was no way such a man—with such foolishly long sleeves and a stuffed animal friend—could be assigned to…to…pedophilia? He shuddered at the very thought. "Maybe…maybe, they're just his relatives, you know?" _

"_Pffttt…" Alfred shot his Slurppe container into the nearby trashcan. "Aw yes, slam dunk!" __He continued, "You ain't seen nothin' man."_

Out of all the things that could have happened that morning, Yao just _had _to run into Alfred, and they just _had_ to have that conversation. He stared hesitantly at Cheburashka, running his fingers along the curve of its ears. Its round, wide, and innocent eyes uncannily resembled those of Ivan. Had it not the nose to match, the two could be considered as essentially the same being. He hugged it again, hoping no one would notice.

"Cheburashka!"

Yao leapt almost five feet into the air. "GYAH!"

There was a little boy wearing black shorts and a tight, white shirt, eagerly pointing at Cheburashka. "That looks like Ivan's doll!" He had thick eyebrows and a backpack with a sailor uniform pattern and looked no more than twelve years of age.

"Ah!" Without thinking, Yao thrust Cheuburashka into the little boy's arms and folded his own behind his back. He couldn't embarrass himself in front of a little kid! "I-I was only carrying it for him…!" That was when Alfred's words hit him again.

"_He sometimes brings little kids over to his house." _

The kung fu teacher's attempts to somehow correct himself were futile. He felt as if his judgment of Ivan was to change forever _How could Ivan be like this? No, Yao, he can't be! Stop, think this out! No no no, he's only a stranger. If he's done wrong, then you have to…_

"Do you take ballet class too?"

"W-what?"

"Yeah! Ivan teaches ballet!"

Yao felt his blood rise back up to his face, and a sense of immense relief washed over him. "N-no, I don't. I don't take ballet classes from Ivan. Because he is a ballet teacher. Yes. Just a ballet teacher. But i don't take classes…" He spontaneously burst out into a fit of senseless laughter. "AHAHAHA HA HA, Ha! He's just a _BALLET_ _TEACHER! _AHAHAHA!" He gripped his aching stomach and fell into a ball underneath the horrified young boy's feet. "J-just a ballet teacher. Hahaha…ha…oh my god…yes…hahaha…"

"Um, sir I'm going to go to class now…"

"Wait!" Yao sprung back up on his feet at such an impossible speed it further shocked the boy. "Aren't you a boy?"

"What?"

"Yeah." He dusted his shirt off. "Why are you taking ballet if you're a boy? I mean, I know that Ivan is also a boy, but isn't it more of a girl thing?"

The eyebrow-boy stood there in complete silence for a good two minutes. "You know what," he then said, "I have two dads and they get stuff like this all the time."

"I-oh." He'd said the wrong thing. _Stupid Yao. _He'd resorted to vigorously scratching the back of his head, trying to find a way out. "Um-um, oh yeah! Haha, where are your parents anyway? Also, what's your name?"

"They're in the car. Also, my name's Peter."

Peter appeared less offended, and Yao wiped the sweat off his brow. "Hello there, Peter!" He offered him a hand shake. "My name's Yao Wang!" Peter returned the handshake, and his smile filled up Yao's heart with warmth. _What a cute child… _

"Um, can I go to class now?"


	5. Chapter 5 - Ballet Class

**5**

**Ballet Class**

"Privet," Ivan said as he opened the door. This time, he was wearing a navy-blue sweatshirt and sweatpants to match, and his sleeves were _still _too long. His scarf, on the other hand, was the same soft pink one that fit loosely about his shoulders, concealing his mouth and accenting his large nose. "Ah, when did Cheburashka come to you, Peter?" He took Cheburashka gently, almost as if it were a baby, from Peter's hands.

"Yao gave it to me, Ivan," Peter said, tugging Yao's shirt. "Come on, Yao! I thought you wanted to see how Ivan teaches class."

Yes, Yao was curious, but he abruptly turned around. He didn't want to face Ivan after…after he'd been thinking about him…like _that. _"Aha!" he said as if some great realization had just dawned upon him. "Looks like it's time to go home and make dinner, huh? Let's call it a day, shall we?" He was about to march off to his room when Ivan cut in.

"It's only 4 P.M., Yao."

"Wah!" Yao knew he'd been caught. He turned around slowly. He was surprised to find Ivan's mellow purple eyes fixated on him, almost…_tenderly. _This time, the Russian man appeared a lot more mature and almost taller, and it made Yao experience such a nice—yet horrible—sensation in his gut.

"You can come inside if you want to Yao." And then Ivan smiled the warmest smile possible, where he had his eyes closed and his teeth barely showing.

"Uh." It was useless to argue, and Yao found his legs unconsciously moving towards Ivan's room. _God damn it. _"Yeah, sure—why not?" he said.

* * *

Ballet class didn't really catch Yao's attention. About forty-five minutes of "put your leg this high on the barre" and "no, no, _podozhdi*_, wait until I tell you what to do next" and "Peter, stop being lazy" passed without any interest to the Chinese man. Although he didn't know himself, he was more involved in observing the strange interior of Ivan's apartment room. Wherever he looked, nothing was short of sunflowers. The walls were designed with the prints of the bright yellow flower, and the same went with almost everything else; vases, blankets, curtains, cushions, the sofa—_everything _had some sort of sunflower design.

Yao became unsure of Ivan's sanity.

_Stomp! _

"Aiyah!" Yao almost fell off the sofa. He found Ivan grabbing Peter tightly by the shoulders and staring so intensely that his purple eyes appeared to dig into the poor boy's soul. In fact, he no longer seemed like the doll-carrying, sunflower-loving, and cute-sweater-wearing man Yao had seen the other day—his faced had literally _darkened_. Yao could barely believe his ears for the next few seconds.

"What did I say, Peter?" Ivan's voice was low—an almost inaudible growl. His previous childishness was completely nonexistent, and all that was left was a strangely-clothed ghoul. "What did I say?" he asked again, giving Peter a quick shake.

"M-Mr. Braginsky!" It was a piteous sight indeed to see such a lovely child scared out of his pants; Yao could see an immeasurable amount of terror in Peter's face. "I d-did practice, b-b-but I had no…I…I didn't—I couldn't understand w-when you first taught me?"

Ivan let go, slowly, and backed away. Peter held on to the barre for dear life, hoping that it wouldn't happen again.

_H-how…? _Yao could not muster a single word. _How could he be so…horrifying? _And then he remembered; he should have known when Alfred had warned him about Ivan being a creep. He was about to leave—and perhaps give a good tongue-lashing or two before he did so (even though he was very frightened himself)—but that was when the unexpected happened.

And Yao's definition of his own identity was about to change forever.

"I hate these silly sweatshirts and whatnot," Ivan said. He muttered something else in Russian as well, but Yao couldn't concentrate.

Ivan took his sweats off.

He did it quickly, so Yao had no time to cover his eyes—but luckily Ivan was wearing something underneath. Well…it wasn't very _much _though.

Yao gulped.

For the first time, Yao could see the entirety of the man's jaw line, and it really wasn't the same bubbly, childlike face he had been used to. No; Ivan was a lot…a lot…_manlier _than Yao had initially conceived. And his grey shirt was rather _tight_—Yao was alarmed to find out that his physique mimicked that of something like a Renaissance statue, and his calves and thighs bulged through his black tights; he certainly had some good legs to match his upper body.

Ivan certainly had Yao's attention now.

Over and over again, Ivan repeated a series of leg movements—slowly and cautiously as to instruct Peter. He appeared softer and much more relaxed right now, and each lift of the leg was graceful and precise. "Pivot like this." His voice no longer was frightening, but it did not return to the childlike pitch either. Ivan was serious now; Yao could tell. "Pivot your foot when you lift it like this. You'll fall if you don't. Peter, like I said, turn the ankle…"

_S-so much control, _Yao thought. Indeed, the slow but apparent motion of Ivan's muscles gave away how controlled and calculated he was about his motions; he needed strength to hold himself up, but also needed elegance to give the flavor of the dance. _It is almost as if the strength needed for one punch or a lift off of the ground are all contained and elongated into one slow motion. _And he wasn't even twirling or leaping or doing the things Yao often saw ballet performers do; yet, he could somehow sense that Ivan most surely _could_ also do those things. Yao wanted to see more.

And then the doorbell rang.

"Did you understand, Peter?" Ivan asked. His return to his usual, cheery voice broke Yao's unwavering concentration.

"Yup, Ivan!" Peter replied, standing straight as if lined up in a march. "Th-thanks much!" He ran off and opened the door to join his parents outside, hand in hand and gleaming with pride.

Yao felt himself turn red, and he tried to cover his cheeks with hands so that no one would notice—his temperature was surprising. _Hot. _

Something stirred inside of him when he saw Ivan close the door and put his sweats back on—and it was something terrible. Old memories rushed back to him, and he could do nothing to stop them…

* * *

*podozhdi=wait


	6. Chapter 6 - Stones

**Note: There's been confusion as to what animal Cheburashka is. Although he does have large ears, which may make one think he is like an elephant, he is actually a bear-like character. (More info in this Wikipedia article: wiki/Cheburashka)**

* * *

**6**

**Stones**

_Yao and his usual group of friends hung around the playground often. Today was such a day, but their eyes were not on the swings or slides or ladders. There was a small, sickly little boy at the center of the playground and another older boy beside him. They talked until the older boy decided to leave. Before doing so, he delicately placed a kiss and the smaller one's cheek, and in turn, he blushed. _

"_Wow, G-A-Y," one of Yao's friends said as he approached the small boy. _

"_Yeah, look at him!" _

"_Hey, my mom told me Emperor Ai was like him or something!" _

"_Emperor Ai? Pffttt yeah right!" _

_As the little boy trembled in place, aware of his upcoming fate, Yao picked up a few small stones and handed them over to his friends. "Here, here! Let's use these."_

_And they pelted the poor thing with the stones. _

"Yao? Yao!"

"Wha-?" Yao had completely blanked out. "Oh, you were talking to me?"

Ivan made that horribly adorable giggly noise again. "Yao, you're so silly! This is the second time you've asked me that question."

Yao recounted the events of the day before. He'd been lost in thought then as well. "R-right…"

"Hey, you look hungry." Without warning, Ivan slightly pushed Yao to the side and dug his hands into the sofa. "Hold up for a bit." Yao watched in disbelief (and perhaps fear as well) as Ivan pulled out a detached faucet and proceeded to hold it up in the air like a trophy. "Mr. Water-Pipe will help us!"

Ivan's scarf suddenly appeared to extend beyond its usual length—and was it levitating?—and his purple eyes flashed beneath the hair that now obscured his face. The faucet loomed straight above Yao's head. Ivan gave the impression of some serial killer about to bash his victim's head in senselessly. Not knowing how to protect himself, Yao squeezed his eyes shut and frantically drew his arms up to shield the top of his head. "NO, NO, NO—STOP!"

"What? You don't want candy?"

"Huh?" Yao said. His arms fell back down to his lap.

"_Da, _Mr. Water-Pipe can give candy." Ivan shook the pipe for a few seconds, and _plop! _A perfectly brand-new mini Hershey's chocolate bar landed on the sofa.

"Um…" Yao hesitantly fingered the bar for a few moments before taking it. "Th-thanks?" As he unwrapped it, he was astonished to find that the chocolate inside had not yet melted.

"You're welcome!" Ivan plopped onto the couch and pulled out a small bag of Lays—it was much too large to have fit into the faucet.

But Yao had given up trying to apply physics to Ivan, and he ate his candy in silence.

Once again, his attention turned to the Russian man's house. The sofa took up much of the space, and the small, circular dinner table, complete with a pair of chairs, took up much of that space left. It was a wonder how Ivan could teach ballet such a cooped up, measly apartment room.

"You're wondering why it's so small, hm?"

"Ack!" This was too much. His neighbor was a child in a man's body, chaotically obsessed with sunflowers, and now he was also a _mind reader? _Trembling with inconceivable fear, Yao finally answered. "U-uh yeah…How do you teach in such a small space?"

"Oh. _Nyet, _I was asking about your candy!"

Yao could feel his blood returning to his face again. _Phew. _

Ivan continued. "Well, in that case, this is not where I teach, usually. Only some small-scale corrections—you know some minor mistakes in the basics? Yeah, those are what I fix here, and one-on-one only too. Peter needed that today because his form was flawed. Other days I rent the community room in the local library. It has much space, so a regular group class is ideal over there." He passed the Lays over to Yao, who cautiously took a chip as if it were guarded by piranhas. "Say, you teach only at your apartment room? How do you do that?"

It only hit Yao when Ivan told him—why _was _he teaching with such a small space? In a community room, he could teach many students in once and make all the profit in one day instead of having to schedule classes at different times of the week when he could be focusing on schoolwork. And, a small apartment was nowhere to teach leaps and spinning kicks.

And that's when he remembered his pocket.

Yao slumped in utter embarrassment. "I-I, I can't pay." He only had four students so far, and he was to reject one as well. "The rent for community rooms, I mean—I don't have much money…because I don't have that many students."

Ivan's gaze softened—it was almost…_sorry. _With a gloved hand, he patted Yao's head, the sympathy showing in the gentleness he displayed.

It was of no use, as Yao only tensed up. _Wh-why is he touching my hair? _

"Yao, I can pay for you. We can teach on the same day, and until you can get more students, I can take care of the cost."

"Ivan? What, you really mean it?" For the first time in days, Yao's eyes lit up.

"Yeah, it's no big deal." He crumpled up the empty chips bag and threw it at the trash can in the kitchen. It didn't make it in. "_Chyort! _How does that idiot Alfred even do that? Ah—anyway, I have a large class of around eighteen students." He pulled two packs of sunflower seeds from his faucet and gave one to Yao.

"E-eighteen?" Yao said, fidgeting with his pack of seeds. He looked up at Ivan's face, wanting—again—to so badly boop his nose. "Ha, I can't even get four!"

And so, the two of continued this way, eating the most random things from Mr. Water-Pipe and conversing all the while. Yao was surprised to find out that Ivan was a second-year and that his weakest subject was also English 1. They then talked about how hard it was for them to learn English and that—although they had mastered grammar and vocabulary—they still needed to fix their accents. At one point, Ivan even let Yao wear his scarf for a while, and he was also able to see Yao laugh out loud for the very first time. This went on until Yao had ended up sharing everything about his experiences with kung fu and how he had bitterly lost the spar with Horace.

"Now you know I'm not that great at kung fu," Yao said. He chuckled. "You know what I mean? I tried very hard, but that's when I knew I couldn't live up to what everyone thought I could do."

Ivan sighed, and then he was silent. Yao looked at him expectantly, hoping that he would understand—but then he felt stupid. Seeing Ivan's prowess in ballet, Yao felt that there was no way Ivan could connect with him.

"Heh." Ivan finally put the faucet down and wiped cookie crumbs from his pale face. "Yao, you know something?" His purple eyes met Yao's dark, chocolate-brown ones, and he said, "I'm terrible at ballet. Absolutely terrible."

And that's when Yao almost reached out and took Ivan into his arms.

* * *

"Bye-bye, Yao-Yao," Ivan said.

"Bye, Ivan!" Yao didn't mind the nickname, nor did he mind the fluttering sensation in his stomach when he heard it. "Thanks for having me over! I really enjoyed ballet class too!" He walked away in the dark towards his room and waved. "Hey, you should show me some of your ballet sometime."

"If you show me some kung fu."

Yao chuckled. "Sounds like a deal to me!"

He watched Ivan disappear back behind the doors of his room, and his apartment once again regained its sense of vacancy. As Yao opened his own door, his own pleasant mood was crushed.

The memories came back to him, and Yao stared into his palms. For the first time in his life, he realized how heavy those stones had been.

_Da_ = yes

_Nyet_ = no

_Chyort = _Damn!/Hell!


	7. Chapter 7 - Uncertainty

**7**

**Uncertainty**

"_How do you know if you are gay?" _

That was the first thing Yao typed up in his search box. He was about to press the "Enter" key, but he quickly backspaced, reassuring himself—_Come on, there's no way! _He cracked his knuckles and repositioned his monitor. _Alright, time to officially start. _With a quick motion of his fingers, he put on his headphones, typed in the web codes for the online game, and began playing vigorously.

_Yeah! I got the crystal. Okay, okay, there's no more time…shit! It's a boss! I can't kill him for some reason. _He hurriedly punched several keys, but nothing worked; his character's power slowly reduced while the unfazed boss kept bombarding with attacks. "I can't do anything!" he yelled into his mike.

_Swish! _The blade of one of his team mates slashed violently at the boss. _"I've got you, Yao!"_ Yao heard from the other side of the line. Within one quick minute, the boss's health bar disappeared, and its icon flickered and crumbled away with it.

"Yeah! Good one, good one!" Yao sighed in relief and slid back into his spinning chair. He sat there, soaking in the sound of whoops and raucous laughter in his headphones.

"_Did you see that?" _

"_That was the hardest boss!"_

"_We finally made it—I, I c-c-can't believe it!" _

"_I'm so happy—I'm going to go tell my mom!"_

"_What a twelve-year-old."_

"_Shut up! Also, you should be addressing me as your older brother!" _

"Come on, let's not make fun of each other," Yao said with a chuckle. "After all, Yong Soo may be young, but he helped out too." He readjusted his headphones and sprawled out on his seat. _My online friends are the best, _he thought. _They don't make you feel…_

He paused.

…_Gay. _

He shuddered at the thought of that word. Yet, he couldn't push Ivan and his scarf and his big nose out of his mind. Yao replayed Ivan's solemn yet sweet expression and his words—_" I'm terrible at ballet. Absolutely terrible."_—over and over in his head. He had even memorized the way that Ivan's deep purple eyes had faded in pure empathy. Everything about was so warm…and just…_cuddly. _And damn!—While in his ballet outfit, Ivan had just been so…um…_physically appealing_, to say. He felt the characteristic horrid tingling in his stomach, and this time, in his mind was the perfect image of Ivan's soft, delicate pinkish lips.

He was done. Just absolutely done.

"Hey guys, I'm going to be out for a bit." Without pausing to hear what his friends had to say, he punched at his keyboard once more.

"_How do you know if you are gay?" _

Yao browsed speedily through each of the results, trying to frantically to figure out who he really was. However, from the information he could derive from the sites, he could only conclude that he was somewhat slightly open about his orientation. But it was hard to trust this deduction; he'd never been any sort of relationship before, and most of the websites asked the reader to refer to those experiences. "Come on…"

Finally, he ran into a questionnaire: "How do you know if your gay?"

_You're, _Yao thought as he clicked the link. _This better be worth my time. _The first few questions were similar to the topics suggested by the previous websites:

"Have you ever been _close _with a man?" _No. _

"Have you ever been to a gay bar?" _Um…no. _

"Did you ever find it hard to show affection for your girlfriend or ex-girlfriend?" _Never had one. _

"What gender do you think about when you—" _Well, whoa there! G-getting a little too nosy, aren't we? Don't feel like answering that one…_

"Do you ever want to—" _Nope. _

_This quiz is just junk. I can't answer half of these without cringing. _

And then, he saw it.

* * *

**Author's Note: I was about to call this chapter "gay," but my mature senses suddenly kicked in (I think they faded once I started actually writing the chapter though). (You can still consider that the alternative name for it, if you want to, you know what I mean?) Also, China actually enjoys playing online games in canon! And yeah,"older brother" is Korea. **


	8. Chapter 8 - Dumplings

**8**

**Dumplings**

((Sorry for the hiatus! As a present, have a chapter from Ivan's perspective!))

"Good morning, Yao-Yao!" Ivan ruffled the curious man's head. "I've come to pick you up."

Yao blinked owlishly. He was wearing a dusty yellow apron over his light blue pajamas, and the expression on his face was worrisome—dark rings had formed under his eyes, and his complexion was a deathly pale. It looked as if he had little sleep the night before. "Oh, uh, yeah!" He backed away from the door and headed for the kitchen. "I-I'm almost done with breakfast."

Ivan watched as Yao quietly resumed his cooking. "I'm going to come in," Ivan said.

No answer.

"Okay I'm coming in!" _What's wrong with Yao? _

Ivan couldn't refrain from inspecting the interior of Yao's apartment. Evidently, he wasn't a very clean person; books, CDs, boxes, and everything else was scattered in piles here and there. Only Yao's study room appeared plausibly organized.

_I…I should help him clean up some day, shouldn't I? _Ivan noticed a faint light from the study room, and he peeked further in. _The computer is still on! _He promptly seated himself on the spinning chair and pushed a few keys here and there on the computer keyboard, unsure of what he was doing. _Everything's in Chinese. Oh! What's this? _

"_How Do I Know If I'm Gay?"_

"Wah!" Ivan promptly covered his mouth.

"Ivan?" Yao said. "Are you okay?"

"Haha, no it's nothing Yao-Yao!" Ivan said, flapping his arms frantically. "I'm fine! There's nothing wrong here! I assure you!" Chuckling nervously, Ivan scrolled down. _Huwah! _He'd almost spoken out loud again. _What kind of question is this? _

"_Imagine a man. Any man. Now picture him without his shirt on. Now picture him only in his pants. Now picture him only in his…" _

"Gwaah!" _Thud! _Ivan fell out of the spinning chair and landed flat on his back, while his scarf flew up and landed on his face, and his legs were suspended in the air. "Ow…" Although he couldn't see anything, he was certain that the footsteps he heard belonged to Yao.

Someone lifted up his scarf. "What do you think you're doing?" Yao's voice was so quiet—so _sullen _that it absolutely frightened Ivan. (And others had considered _his _voice as eerie.) And Yao's eyes were as black as the depths of Hell.

"Ah," Ivan squeaked. He weakly lifted up an arm. "Hello, Yao-Yao."

* * *

Ivan tried to keep from sobbing in between his bites of food. He never knew that Yao could have such a bold screaming voice.

"That'll teach you from going through my stuff!" Yao said as he placed a dumpling on Ivan's plate. "And stop crying—your tears are getting all over my food and making it salty."

"Uwah! Yao-Yao, you're so insensitive!" He immediately burst out into tears, using his scarf to cover his face.

Realizing his mistake, Yao promptly stood up and reached for Ivan. "Hey, hey, I'm sorry okay!" He patted Ivan's light hair and plopped another dumpling on his plate. After a small duration of silence, he said, "I— "

Ivan peeked out from beneath his scarf. "You?"

Yao sighed. "I was a little too harsh." He held his head between his hands and slumped in his chair. "I…I don't even know anymore! I'm getting really carried away for some reason." Tears formed in Yao's eyes as well. "I'm sorry, Ivan."

Ivan dried his own face with his sleeves before doing the same with Yao. "Don't cry, Yao-Yao! We've all been short-tempered, right?" He offered a dumpling to Yao, which the latter promptly swallowed. Ivan did a little jump in his seat and clapped his hands. "Besides, everyone's a little gay!"

_Thwack! Ping! _

Ivan found himself in the same position as he was earlier—on his back, with his scarf on his face. However, he now had a throbbing pain on the left side of his head. "Yao," he said softly, "was that a Wok that you just used to hit me with?"

Yao didn't say anything.

"Ah, so it was a Wok. I understand."


	9. Chapter 9

**9**

**Perfect Size**

"_Adeen, dva, tree_," Ivan counted as he examined his students' ballet steps. He wouldn't be dancing today; all he could do was sit and hold the ice pack in place on his aching head.

"Nothing, nothing," he had said to one of his curious students. "I only fell down the stairs."

Although he was certainly frightened out of his socks by the new Yao that he saw, he couldn't help but feel sorry. Yao had apologized many times, and his words did seem heartfelt. After all, discovering oneself was not an easy task…

_Stomp! _"Punch with more spirit! More spirit!"

Ivan turned over to Yao's side of the room. It was as if a black cloud hovered over the kung fu class; all the students were simply petrified—some twitched an eyelid or two, while others simply trembled in place. One looked in Ivan's direction, the fear apparent in his eyes. Ivan just smiled weakly and waved. Nevertheless, once Yao said, "Go!" all their punches landed on the punching bags in perfect form and energy. Ivan almost clapped. _At least he's a little more assertive now…_

Yao, trying not to show his satisfaction, put his hands on his hips with a small "humph!" and walked slightly away from his class. He turned and smiled at Ivan, to which the latter promptly smiled back. "Uh…um." Yao worriedly patted the right side of his head.

Ivan readjusted his ice pack and cheerfully gave a thumbs-up. He tried not to wince in pain.

Yao sighed in relief and resumed his work. "Hey! What's with this limp wrist? And your foot is not pivoted to forty-five degrees! Forty-five degrees, I said!"

Ivan drummed his fingers along his left cheek. He stopped tending to the pain on his head—or his class, for that matter—and simply allowed himself to drown in the tender moonlight that was Yao. _T-tender moonlight? _he wondered. _My poetry senses have perked. Though I must say, they're not very original. _Ignoring all else around him, he allowed his gaze to follow the elegant movements of Yao's ponytail. It flew through the air whenever Yao kicked or punched, and then, it resettled slowly onto his shoulders once he stopped moving. It reminded Ivan of those Chinese dragons he had heard about in storybooks in his younger days—he'd always imagined them dancing through the skies in such fluid motions. _He's…just beautiful, isn't he?_

"Mr. Braginsky."

_Shit. _Ivan turned around to find his entire class crowded around him.

"Watcha doing?" one of his students asked.

"I think I know!" piped in Peter. He began singing an all-too-familiar song, his voice initially a whisper before increasing in volume.

"…Ivan and Yao sitting in a…"

"No, no!" Ivan said. He rushed to cover Peter's mouth, but the boy only sang louder.

"…tree. K-I-S-S-I-N-G!"

Yao paused in the middle of instructing a boy on kicking positions. He spun around.

Ivan had finally managed to tie his scarf around Peter's mouth, effectively muffling the boy's singing. "Ahaha, Yao-Yao, it's nothing! I was only, um…um…"

"Yao-Yao?" One of the girls in Ivan's class began giggling. "Haha, that's so cute, Mr. Braginsky!"

"Wah!" Ivan tried to extend his scarf over to the girl as well before he tripped over Peter's foot and fell quite miserably—he was tied up in his own scarf, face-flat on the floor. "Ow…" He knew it was over. Yao would never speak to him again, and their friendship would be dead. There would be no more eating from Mr. Water-Pipe, no hugging Cheburashka, and no more dumplings for breakfasts or wok-attacks.

But then, Ivan heard something. It was a small sound, but there was no mistaking it. _Was that…a chuckle? _He squirmed in his scarf until he was able to look over at Yao. The young man was trying hard to suppress his laughter with a hand. He immediately caught sight of Ivan, and he blushed.

Ivan smiled. This was definitely going to work out.

Class was over in nearly second; perhaps Ivan had not noticed time fly by, as he was being preoccupied trying to take a few glances every now and then at Yao and his dragon-like hair. Ivan's students continued to make their remarks, but in more hushed tones and quieted giggles. And this time, Ivan didn't really want to stop them either.

As all of the kids rushed to greet their parents, Ivan walked over onto Yao's side of the room. He immediately drank up the pleasant sight of Yao—who was hastily wiping sweat from his face and adjusting his disheveled hair—and waved amicably.

"It looks you've taken some of my advice, _da_?"

"Oh." Yao tucked an aluminum sword into his sack. "Why, yes, Ivan! I don't like being harsh, but…sometimes the old brutal Chinese way is the best!"

"You're making fun of your own race," Ivan said. He removed his scarf and gently wrapped it around Yao's neck.

"I, uh…" Yao blushed heavily as the scarf fit snugly about shoulders. "Yeah, don't we all do that at some point?" He chuckled hesitantly.

"Mr. Br'ginsky."

"GYAH!" Yao leapt and latched tightly onto one of Ivan's arms. As he tried to hide himself behind Ivan's tall form, the Russian man comfortingly ruffled his friend's hair.

"Don't worry, Yao-Yao." He smiled as he greeted the man before him. Yao's reaction was typical of anyone's first encounter with Peter's Swedish father—he was a rather intimidating figure, with a giant stature, unchanging cold blue eyes, and a squarish face to match his squarish glasses. "It's my student's parent, Berwald. No need to be afraid, hm?"

Yao, realizing his mistake, quickly let go of Ivan's arm and managed to squeak out a small "hi."

"Hello," Berwald said in the calmest voice, "nice t' meet y'."

Before Yao could say anything else, the smaller man next to Berwald piped in. "Ah, hello! You're the kung-fu teacher Peter was talking about, hm?" He held out his hand. "I'm Tino Vainomoinen, and this is my husband, Berwald Vainomoinen. We're Peter's parents."

"Oh." Yao returned the handshake. "I-I'm Yao Wang. I'm friends with Ivan—er, I mean Mr. Braginsky."

Ivan gazed admiringly at Yao. _You know you don't have to be so formal. _

Tino, as if caught by a trance, fixed his eyes on the pink scarf Yao was wearing. He then proceeded to whisper something to his husband, who suddenly lost his collected composure and began whispering, "No, T'no, no."

"You know something?" Tino said. He cocked his head to the side with a smile and raised a hand as if to avoid his husband's frantic gestures. "You're pretty small in size compared to Ivan. It reminds me of me and Berwald. Your sizes are perfect for hugging, you know?"

Berwald began adjusting his glasses almost hysterically. Yao turned red all over. Ivan was caught completely off-guard by Tino's comments and nearly lost his balance.

Yet, Ivan could not control his underlying delight. Although Berwald managed to shift the focus of the conversation to something having to do with Peter's performance, Ivan's mind still lingered elsewhere.


End file.
